“That may be to-morrow,” Markham encouraged him. “So don’t feel downcast over this little delay. . . . You’re keeping the Captain under surveillance, aren’t you?”
“I’ll say so,” grinned Heath.
Vance turned to Markham.
“What about that list of names you made out for the Sergeant?” he asked ingenuously. “I understood you to say something about alibis.”
Markham hesitated, frowning. Then he handed Heath the paper containing the names Vance had called off to him.
“As a matter of caution, Sergeant,” he said morosely, “I wish you’d get me the alibis of all these people on the night of the murder. It may bring something contributory to light. Verify those you already know, such as Pfyfe’s; and let me have the reports as soon as you can.”
When Heath had gone Markham turned a look of angry exasperation upon Vance.
“Of all the confounded trouble-makers⸺” he began.
But Vance interrupted him blandly.
“Such ingratitude! If only you knew it, Markham, I’m your tutelary genius, your deus ex machina, your fairy godmother.”